


Waltz

by evil_bunny_king



Series: Of the Sun [12]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Abora Lavellan, F/M, Moonlight slow dancing, as if the title didn't give that away, unremitting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:11:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4628226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_bunny_king/pseuds/evil_bunny_king
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are you ready?”</p><p>She rolls onto the balls of her feet to press the words into the curve of your ear, breath hot on contact.</p><p>All thought drops away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waltz

You sway into her, surrendering to the tug of her hand, the look in her eye. Her eyebrow is cocked. Her smile creases the thorns of her vallaslin. Your feet move without thought - chasing that smile into the crisp air of the battlements, and she laughs as she drags you around the edge of the courtyard, close enough to hear the strains of music that filter from the nearby tavern.  

You tuck your fingers between her own. Tuck that smile into memory.

Perhaps it’s the evening. The giddiness of exhaustion, the hours spent in the solitude of the basement archive. There is work to be done, considerations to be reckoned - the chains wrapped around your conscience creak with every omission and half-truth but when she spins to face you before the corner tower, green eyes washed silver in the moon light, you feel your breath catch.

_Arasha, ma vhen’an sulen sulahnen or na._

You won’t say it.

(Not yet)

“Are you ready?”

She has rolled onto the balls of her feet to press the words into the curve of your ear, her breath hot on contact, and all thought drops away.

You shiver and catch her before she can retreat, sliding your hands into position. Right hand smoothed from waist to the edge of her shoulder blade; left clasping gently around hers: the closed stance of the waltz.

“What a poor ally I would be,” (the words are quieter than you intended) “if I did not lend my assistance to the Inquisitor when in need?”

Her responding chuckle is satisfyingly breathless.

“Well, the inquisition thanks you for your diligence.” She places her left hand against your upper arm, sliding her feet to frame one of yours and the movement brings her flush against you. She fits against you in a way that grounds you more than the stone beneath your feet or the hollows in your chest. “And commends your sacrifice. Your toes may not survive the campaign.”

“Ah. A formidable task, then.” A song begins below - you move, despite the inappropriate beat, and draw her along with you. She is unpractised, and she stumbles, but after a moment she catches up. You make your way slowly across the ramparts. “So be it.”

Time passes and the two of you linger, dancing out of step to half-heard music in the quiet of starlight.

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS GOES TO [fenxshiral](http://fenxshiral.tumblr.com/) for the elven, he really is amazing.
> 
> Arasha, ma vhen’an sulen sulahnen or na. = My happiness, my mind sings songs of you.
> 
> This was written for the prompt of the song ['Reckless Love' by Bleachers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7JOu21_z9R8) from the wonderful felassolas. It's a great song, well worth a listen <3


End file.
